


I Fell For You And I Knew

by MovesLikeBucky



Series: Gift Fics 2019 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22264687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: He climbs the stairs to their tiny shared flat on the first floor.  It’s small, but it’s home, and it’s just enough for them. Before he gets to the second step he can already smell it.  Tomatoes, basil, garlic, mushrooms. Crowley must be making pasta tonight. Aziraphale loves it when Crowley cooks for him.  He’s been learning, which had surprised Aziraphale at first. A Crowley completely free from the confines of head office had turned out to be quite the romantic.  Candlelit dinners, lots of sweet nothings, and the clingiest cuddle-bug that Aziraphale had ever known (and he had known Wilde and been drunk with him).
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Gift Fics 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581070
Comments: 59
Kudos: 185
Collections: Break in Case of Emergency: Fluff and Love





	I Fell For You And I Knew

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyOutlier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyOutlier/gifts).



> We're back again! Another gift fic this time for my friend and server admin LadyOutlier! Fun fact: Her songfic for [Earth Angel](https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=3&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=2ahUKEwi02-yOgoXnAhUBac0KHZCRAx0QwqsBMAJ6BAgLEAQ&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DvRQlFi3CYI8&usg=AOvVaw2djDQ1NLVDITPc-PzGhmwN) is what lead us to meet in the first place xD and she gave it back to me as a prompt for this. Hope you enjoy the domesticity of it all!
> 
> EDIT: Now with lovely beautiful amazing spectacular art from [WarGoddess9](https://wargoddess9.tumblr.com), whom I have become very fast friends with during the Good Omens Mini Bang and who I love dearly <3 <3

_Earth angel, earth angel_

_Will you be mine?_

_My darling dear, love you all the time_

_I'm just a fool; a fool in love with you_

_\---_

Today had not been kind to Aziraphale. Not in the slightest bit.

He had a meeting around noon with a local rare book dealer about a particular first edition he’d been seeking for quite a while. They’d agreed to meet at a cafe local to the dealer at 3 on the dot. Aziraphale, being ever punctual, had arrived at 2:30. Nothing wrong with having a spot of cocoa and a scone while he waited; and he was always on the lookout for new places to drag Crowley to. He made it inside just a few minutes before the rain started outside.

Things had gone off the rails almost immediately. The hot cocoa was made with _hot water_ , thin and tasteless, with a dollop of whipped cream from a can floating sadly in the center. But Aziraphale was always an optimist, and he suffered through it, for the sake of the baristas. He didn’t want to inconvenience them.

He’d gotten a cranberry orange scone, and it hadn’t been much better. Far too crumbly, he could barely pick it up without it falling apart. And the ratio of scone to fruit was ridiculous. He counted two cranberries in the entire scone, and he was pretty sure whoever made it had forgotten the orange entirely.

He was silently seething as the clock struck three, the book dealer still nowhere in sight. He decided to take a look at the papers in the meantime, but the only ones left in the shop were from two weeks prior. He thought to himself that beggars were the last ones to be choosers and read the same stories he already knew about, contemplating one of those ‘smart phones’ Crowley was always trying to get him to buy.

By the time 3:30 rolled around, he’d read the paper cover to cover at least three times. He folded it and tossed it on the table, with his barely-drunk cocoa and hardly-touched scone. Aziraphale hadn’t brought a book with him this time; his tendency to get absorbed wasn’t always appreciated in these meetings, and he didn’t want to be off-putting to this new potential source. It had been so long since he’d found a new dealer to work with, and the older ones were starting to dwindle in their offerings anyway. He settled for people watching, and throwing a few minor miracles around to those passing who needed them.

By 4:30 he decided the dealer would be a no-show, and resigned himself to the long walk back to the bookshop. The rain, at least, had let up by this point. He hadn’t thought to bring an umbrella, and that would’ve just made things worse.

At five he was just around the corner from the bookshop, ready to be home with Crowley and forget about this entire day and fruitless endeavors, when a lorry slammed through a puddle on the road, splashing him from head to toe. He stopped in place and heaved a sigh, this day just wouldn’t let him off the hook.

It should be noted that even the best of us are susceptible to a bad day. Even angels and even demons. Aziraphale has weathered his fair share of them - you don’t live on Earth for six thousand years without encountering a few. This particular day paled in comparison to most of the ones he’d had, but sometimes even the kindest, nicest, and most put-together people will succumb to a string of innocuous bad events and sink into what is professionally known as a “funk”.

This is the state we find Aziraphale in as he returns to the bookshop. Dejected, soaking wet, and downright depressed. He unlocks the door, snapping his fingers quickly to rid himself of the water. It wouldn’t do to drip all over the floors, the old wood wouldn’t take kindly to it. Despite this, he still feels chilled to the bone and a bit damp. Drying miracles never quite manage to get all of the water out.

He climbs the stairs to their tiny shared flat on the first floor. It’s small, but it’s home, and it’s just enough for them. Before he gets to the second step he can already smell it. Tomatoes, basil, garlic, mushrooms. Crowley must be making pasta tonight. Aziraphale loves it when Crowley cooks for him. He’s been learning, which had surprised Aziraphale at first. A Crowley completely free from the confines of head office had turned out to be quite the romantic. Candlelit dinners, lots of sweet nothings, and the clingiest cuddle-bug that Aziraphale had ever known (and he had known Wilde _and_ been drunk with him).

The smell only gets stronger as he climbs the stairs, lifting his spirits ever so slightly. But the weight of the day is still heavy on his shoulders as he opens the door to the flat.

“Angel, that you?” he hears Crowley call out from the kitchen. Some kind of bebop is playing on the little radio there by the sink. Something about Sunday’s and wasted years.

“Yes; was a bit of a mess, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale says as he hangs his coat on the little angel wing hook by the door. (Crowley had thought it quite hilarious right after moving in. The other hook, currently holding a very flash black suit jacket, is a devil tail.) He slips his shoes off and puts them on the rack, turning to see Crowley leaning on the door frame of their little kitchen-slash-dining room, tea towel slung over his shoulder, bright red hair up in a messy half bun

“Deal didn’t go through then?” Crowley says, brows laced with concern. He knows how Aziraphale gets, especially by now. It’s been years since that fateful August day when they stood side by side on an old airstrip and faced down the forces of Heaven and Hell with a scrappy group of humans. 

Crowley crosses over and wraps his arms around Aziraphale, placing a kiss into his hairline, “do I need to find the scumbag and stage a little demonic intervention?”

Aziraphale manages a slight chuckle as he nuzzles his face into Crowley’s neck. “No, I don’t think so, dearest. The dealer never showed.”

“The scumbag,” Crowley says with absolutely zero bite behind it, “I’ll curse him myself.”

“None of that, foul fiend.” Aziraphale says with infinite fondness. It’s been a long time since either of them have done anything _truly_ in line with their respective sides. 

Crowley absently runs a hand soothingly up and down the angel’s back. “Still, something else is on your mind, I can always tell.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Aziraphale sighs, “just several bad things all piling together.”

“Well,” Crowley pulls back and kisses Aziraphale quickly on the nose, “you’re not allowed to be sad because I made pasta, and you love pasta, and you love me.” Crowley rests his forehead against Aziraphale’s, touching their noses together. The intimacy of the action still takes Aziraphale’s breath away to this day.

Crowley kisses him quickly, then turns and makes his way back to the kitchen. Aziraphale follows close behind, sinking into one of the tiny bistro chairs of the little dining set they managed to fit into the corner. The rain has started back up outside, and Aziraphale leans his chin on his hand to stare out the window at it for a little bit.

Aziraphale doesn’t think he has a right to be this sad; everyone has bad days and he’s had much worse than this. Lots of their neighbors around Soho have had a worse day than he has, he can’t hear their prayers persay, but he can feel the general shape of their hopes and fears. And yet, he just can’t shake it.

A sharp yelp from the oven startles Aziraphale out of his thoughts. Crowley’s burned himself on the pan for the garlic bread, like he always does. He watches Crowley move around the kitchen, so steady and self-assured. Falling into domesticity has been so easy, so natural. Almost like breathing. Crowley keeps swaying to the music on his radio, testing pasta and stirring sauce. He stares down the sauce and adds just a pinch more garlic powder to it, before giving it a stir and tasting it. “Angel, I’ve done it again!” He says as he punches the air. They both know he’ll hardly eat any of it, but he relishes being able to do this for Aziraphale

“That’s lovely dearest,” Aziraphale says with his chin still in his hand.

Crowley smiles at him, tossing the towel back over his shoulder as he swaggers over to the table, “what is it, dove, like what you see?”

“You know I always do, darling.” He smiles at Crowley as the demon takes both of his hands.

“Still feeling down, Angel?” Aziraphale just nods at him. “Well that won’t do, c’mon, up you get.” He pulls Aziraphale to his feet before shooting a glare at the radio. The bebop playing cuts out abruptly and switches to a very smooth piano beat.

Crowley winks at him, “dance with me, love?”

“Crowley what on Earth?” Aziraphale rolls his eyes and does his best to suppress the smile attempting to creep across his face, “you know I can only dance the gavotte.”

“No gavotte here, Angel, just swaying in the kitchen.” Crowley guides Aziraphale’s hand to his shoulder before gently placing his own on the small of the angel’s back. He presses their cheeks together and starts to sing along softly with the man on the radio.

“ _Earth angel, earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you all the time. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.”_

They sway back and forth, as far as the tiny kitchen will allow. Aziraphale can feel his nerves and anxieties calming; safe here in his demon’s arms. They sway and they spin, and he giggles as Crowley keeps singing to him.

“ _Earth angel, earth angel, the one I adore. Love you forever and ever more. I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you._ ”

“Crowley, dear, you’re such a hopeless romantic sometimes.” Aziraphale places a tender kiss to the little snake tattoo by Crowley’s ear.

“Not hopeless if I got you in the end, Angel,” Crowley says before nuzzling into the angel’s cheek. “ _I fell for you and I knew the vision of your loveliness._ ”

Crowley grips his hand tightly before spinning him around and bringing him back even closer.

“ _I hope and I pray that someday I’ll be the vision of your happiness._ ”

“Oh my dearest,” Aziraphale says, resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder, breathing deeply, perfectly at peace, “you always have been.” They sway slowly from side to side, not really dancing anymore so much as just existing.

Aziraphale feels the stresses of the day melting away from him, safe and content in Crowley’s arms. Where he was always meant to be. As the song fades out they hold each other close, pasta miraculously fine still sitting on the stove waiting for this moment to end (it wouldn’t dare burn, not when Crowley is in the room). The final notes of the song drift through the air as Aziraphale leans up to whisper into Crowley’s ear, “ _I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and scream with me on [Tumblr](https://moveslikebucky.tumblr.com)!


End file.
